“Holy shit,” I mutter with a mouth full of toothpaste.
Kian shoots me a smirk and goes to the other sink to brush his own teeth. “Brush, angel. You have all night to stare.”
Giggling, I obey and then watch him after I’ve finished swallowing the tablets. As soon as he’s done, he follows me into the bedroom and switches off the light as we go. He’s already pulled the blankets back as he points to the side of the bed farthest from the door.
“Get in, baby girl.”
I sigh and crawl across the massive mattress, which I’m not even sure is a standard size found in stores, and wiggle under the covers, rolling onto my side to face the middle of the bed. Kian climbs in beside me and pulls me to him, his lips finding mine for a slow, intimate kiss.
When we part, I snuggle into him, the heat of his body soothing me as I close my eyes and let myself fall asleep in this man’s arms.
CHAPTER 17
Kian
The horrible soundof retching startles me awake, and I sit up immediately, blinking my eyes.
Shit.
Quickly on my feet, I cross the room and grab the door handle. As soon as I burst into the bathroom, the first thing I see is the saddest fucking sight.
Ace is on the floor, her legs folded under her, while her face hangs over the toilet as she vomits. She has one hand holding her hair away from her face and the other to hold herself up.
“Baby.” I crowd behind her, squatting down as I reach for her hair to pull it back.
“Kian, get out,” she cries, trying to push me away.
I rise and go over to the vanity to look through the drawers. “I’m not going anywhere, Ace. I need to find something to tie your hair up, though. Do you normally get sick after drinking?”
She groans and lowers her face again; the sound of her heaving makes me flinch.
Fuck.
How the hell is she this sick from three drinks?
“I have a migraine,” she murmurs quietly, then lets out a quiet sob that creates a thousand little cracks in my heart.
“Migraine?” I dig through another drawer.
Fuck. How do I not have a single fucking thing to tie her hair back?
When she starts retching again, I abandon my search and go to her. “I got you, baby girl. I’m right here.”
“I need ice,” she cries weakly.
“Yep. Be right back.” I’m already darting out of the bathroom.
I grab my phone and jog through the house to the kitchen. From the freezer, I pull out the entire ice bucket and take the entire thing back up with me.
This can’t be normal for a migraine.
“What do you need me to do with it, baby?”
She looks up from where she’s still sprawled by the toilet, her sad eyes sparkling with tears. “I want to chew on one and put some more in a towel.”
I hand her a cube, then wrap a handful up in a washcloth, and hold it out to her. As soon as she takes it, I pull out my phone, open the browser app to a search engine, and awkwardly type “migraines” with one finger.
Within a minute, I’ve scanned numerous websites for information.
